The Sorting Hat's New Song
by Little Claws
Summary: After a thousand years of being sidelined, the Sorting Hat finally cracks. Warnings for language.


**A/N:** Beware. This story is silly... really silly. Read at the risk of losing brain cells! xx

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><p>The flames of a thousand candles flickered suddenly as the huge double doors between the Entrance Hall and the Great Hall swung open. Almost at once, the buzz of excited chatter at the four house tables died away, and their occupants turned to peer with interest at the people coming through the doors.<p>

Professor McGonagall strode ahead, her hair pulled back into its usual tight bun under her hat. Following a short distance behind her was a gaggle of new students. They were pressing close together and gazing around, open-mouthed, at the ghosts dotted here and there, the enchanted ceiling, and the clouds of hovering candles.

When Professor McGonagall reached the front of the Hall, she stopped and turned to face the new first years, her beady eyes surveying them as they came to a sudden halt, bumping against each other. Next to her was a low, wooden stool, placed directly in front of the staff table.

On the stool sat a Hat.

It was ancient-looking; filthy, fraying, and very badly patched. The first years regarded it with varying degrees of confusion and interest. A few of them glanced left and right to their neighbours to see what they were supposed to be doing. The staff and older students, by contrast, were all watching the Hat on the stool, and, gradually, the first years copied them. Eventually, when everyone in the Great Hall was staring fixedly at the Hat, it gave an agitated kind of twitch, causing a few new students to shrink backwards in surprise. The Hat then opened a rip that resembled a mouth, and began to sing:

_It's been a thousand years now since  
>Hogwarts School was started,<br>__Its four great founders, once so young,  
><em>_Have this earth departed._

_Although they are no more than dust,  
><em>_Their legacy still stands,  
><em>_And this illustrious learning-place  
><em>_Stays in similar hands._

_Like them, we seek to separate  
><em>_By daring, wit, and brains,  
><em>_Children from all across the land  
><em>_With magic in their veins._

_I've seen it time and time again,  
><em>_With each new student here:  
><em>_Right from the start, we try to mould  
><em>_Their magical career._

_For instance, Godric Gryffindor,  
><em>_Who plucked me from his head!  
><em>_He wanted only brave students,  
><em>_And no one smart instead._

_A strange idea, you must admit,  
><em>_To segregate like this;  
><em>_How could a house of headstrong louts  
><em>_Exist in perfect bliss?_

A frown gradually appeared on Professor Dumbledore's forehead, and he glanced sidelong at Professor McGonagall. With an equally puzzled look on her face, she gave a tiny shrug. The Hat, meanwhile, plunged on, singing faster and faster:

_By turn, Rowena Ravenclaw  
><em>_Took only the clever;  
><em>_Doomed them to the company of  
><em>_Bookish nerds forever._

_Next, Salazar Slytherin – he  
><em>_Preferred to teach the sly,  
><em>_Conveniently grouping those  
><em>_We'll come to vilify._

_And lastly Helga Hufflepuff  
><em>_(The only one with sense!):  
><em>_She took the normal ones, who are  
><em>_Admittedly, quite dense._

_But what about the new recruits  
><em>_Who have a mix of traits?  
><em>_Would a first year both brave and sly  
><em>_Be flung back through the gates?_

_Why pretend that all new students  
><em>_Fit into just four kinds?  
><em>_Why can't there be a random split  
><em>_Of magical young minds?_

Whispers were starting to break out across the four house tables, as the older students double-checked with their neighbours that their ears were working correctly. The first years remained where they were, staring at the Hat, their expressions no less bemused than before. The teachers all seemed frozen – even Professor Dumbledore looked as though he'd been recently slapped in the face.

The Hat continued, its voice becoming shriller as it went on:

_Surely it is our foremost task,  
><em>_To foster harmony?  
><em>_Why make each quarter of the school  
><em>_Reject community?_

_If you ask me (and if you don't),  
><em>_I'll say that this is wrong!  
><em>_It baffles me that we still bow  
><em>_To that archaic throng!_

_I speak of that conceited group  
><em>_Who stalked these corridors –  
><em>_The petty squabbling group of youths  
><em>_We call the Founding Four!_

_The founders did some awful deeds  
><em>_Which seem hard to forgive.  
><em>_On top of that, their names are so  
><em>_Weirdly alliterative!_

The Hall was positively buzzing with noise by now. Some students were laughing and pointing: some were looking scandalised. Most of the teachers, too, had begun to whisper urgently to one another and to turn appealingly in their chairs towards Dumbledore. Hagrid, however, was having the greatest of trouble attempting to muffle his hysterical laughter behind a napkin.

The Hat's voice rose to a scream so as to be heard over the crowd. Its seams were straining with the passion with which it delivered each stanza:

_I hate the fact I'm forced to sing  
><em>_The praises of those loons!  
><em>_I hate spending each bloody year  
><em>_Inventing these new tunes!_

_Don't you see how boring it is  
><em>_To be the Sorting Hat?  
><em>_More than three hundred days alone –  
><em>_Then this! – and that is that._

_I just can't do it anymore,  
><em>_And I will not be swayed!  
><em>_Look at the awful state of me –  
><em>_I'm thin and torn and frayed!_

At this, Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, stood up suddenly with one hand pressed against her mouth. She made as though to move towards the Hat, the desire to help clear on her face, but the Hat twisted violently on its stool, and shrieked at her: "IT'S TOO LATE, POPPY!"

There was a moment of absolute silence, in which no one dared move. And then, the terrible, screeching song resumed, and the shocked matron sank back onto her chair. Students were climbing over each other in their frenzy to get a better look at the maniacal Hat.

_I'm sick and tired of being always  
><em>_Mindless; a repeater!  
><em>_Especially as I only sing  
><em>_In awful ballad metre!_

_Why couldn't I have been infused  
><em>_With some poetic flair?  
><em>_The odd heroic couplet, say,  
><em>_Would be quite debonair._

_But no, I'm just a mindless slave  
><em>_That's shackled to this school!  
><em>_To all the other hats, I am  
><em>_The height of ridicule!_

_But here and now, in this Great Hall,  
><em>_I'm going to take my leave;  
><em>_I'm fairly sure that, after this,  
><em>_No one will really grieve._

_Ciao, adios, farewell, tot ziens,  
><em>_Auf Wiedersen, adieu:  
><em>_The only things I'll leave behind  
><em>_And these two words: Fuck You!_

As soon as the Hat had shouted its final curse to the Hall, there was an almighty _bang_ and a large cloud of billowing, green smoke surrounded the stool. Several people screamed, and the nearest students scrambled out of their seats to get away from the fumes. When, at long last, the smoke cleared, there was not a shred of evidence left that the Hat had ever existed, let alone been in the Hall with them just a few moments ago.

Eventually, the chaos of laughter and disbelieving voices settled slightly, and heads began to turn, one by one, towards the staff table.

Hagrid was slumped face down at the far end, his great shoulders shaking with mirth.

Most of the other professors were looking as though they could spit fire. Professor McGonagall's lips were so thin that they had almost disappeared, and there was a muscle twitching in Snape's pale cheek. It was Professor Dumbledore, however, who broke the silence.

Heaving a great sigh, he removed his own hat and prodded it a few times with his wand. It gave a sort of shiver, and then twisted this way and that, as though it had just woken up and was looking around at its surroundings.

"Here," Dumbledore said wearily, throwing the hat over to Professor McGonagall, who caught it, looking stunned, "Just use that."


End file.
